


Holding on to You

by stevierosebudds (vulcantastic)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 06, Protective Patrick, clingy david, david has ABANDONMENT ISSUES, david misses his family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24044857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcantastic/pseuds/stevierosebudds
Summary: David's family has just left, and he is totally fine. Right?
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 14
Kudos: 283





	Holding on to You

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t worry—I’m still working on my Stevie/Alexis fic! But I decided I’d take a little break and write about my two faves.
> 
> Also, I feel like Costa Rica is a nice compromise for the Maldives for D&P's honeymoon since that definitely would not fly. Now I want to see them in Costa Rica... <3
> 
> Title dually inspired by Twenty-One Pilots' "Holding on to You" and, of course, Noah Reid's latest single, "Hold On."
> 
> Enjoy!

Patrick had braced himself for this—this week of weeks, the one following their wedding and the Roses’ subsequent departure for their respective adventures in the U.S.

All that combined with the fact that they were closing on their new home in just a few weeks meant one thing: David was going to be in a near perpetual state of emotional unrest, and it was Patrick’s job to make sure his husband didn’t crack. No more than usual, anyway.

Except, he mused as he watched David tinker with the new blown glass kitchenware at the front of the store, David seemed totally fine.

_Suspiciously_ fine.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna just take today and relax?” He’d asked that morning as they got ready together, David taking over most of the bathroom vanity as usual, courteously leaving a tiny corner for Patrick to shave. “I can handle the store.”

“Mm, nope. All good,” David had replied with an air of nonchalance as he dabbed the ‘morning dew' serum on his face that Patrick admittedly still couldn’t figure out the use for. “We’re switching up the window display, remember? And I have _ideas._ ”

Frankly, Patrick was gobsmacked. They’d taken just a few days for themselves after the wedding and all the goodbyes before deciding to open the store again in full swing today. Their honeymoon, booked for a boutique resort in Costa Rica next month, wasn’t until after the move. And David’s entire family had just _moved away_. This was _prime_ freakout time.

And yet.

“I don’t _love_ the glasses stacked like this,” David thought aloud, breaking into Patrick’s stream of consciousness. “Do you? I think I’m gonna change it.”

Patrick walked out from behind the counter, moving up behind David to snake his arms around his waist. “Hm.” He rested his chin on David’s shoulder. “Whatever you think.”

“Mkay, that’s unhelpful,” David hummed, his fingers finding Patrick’s hands and tracing mindless patterns on his skin.

Patrick snorted. “I’m pretty sure whatever I say you’ll do the opposite anyway.”

“Well yeah, of course. But that would at least give me _some_ direction.”

“Rude.” Patrick playfully nipped at David’s earlobe, chuckling as David squirmed in his arms to face him. There were those big brown eyes Patrick had fallen into the second he’d met David. He’d never recover from those eyes; and he didn’t want to.

“You know, David,” Patrick couldn’t help but murmur, running a hand up and down David’s arm affectionately. “We haven’t really talked about—”

“Oh, my _God_ ,” David half-squealed, pulling away and busying himself with the cheese plates. “Here we go.”

“But we _haven’t,_ ” Patrick pressed. “There’s just a lot going on right now and I want to make sure that you’re okay. And you don’t have to be, by the way.”

David threw his hands in the air. “I’m fine. _Clearly_. What, are you just, like, waiting for me to flip out or something?” And when Patrick did what he thought was the smart thing, which was stay absolutely silent, he gasped, voice impossibly high: “Oh, my God, you _are_.”

“It’s just, well, with your parents and Alexis busy moving, I know you haven’t talked to them much since they left, and I know that must be hard, and—”

“Patrick, I may be a delicate flower, but let me tell you.” David gestured up and down himself. “This flower’s got _roots_. And _that_ is a metaphor I just leaned into for some reason.”

Patrick tried to hide his smile. “For what it’s worth, I really liked it.”

David closed the space between them, draping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders. “I appreciate your concern,” he said, affection brimming in his expression, “But I really am fine. If you recall, before we moved here, I barely saw my insane family. It’s not as much of an adjustment as you think.”

Patrick wanted to say, _But that’s the point, isn’t it?_ But instead, he conceded: “Okay.”

“Okay,” David echoed.

The sound of the door opening behind them brought them out of the moment. Patrick lightly kissed the tip of David’s nose before turning to greet their customer.

* * *

The next couple of days progressed fairly uneventfully. Occasionally Patrick would catch David staring at his phone for minutes at a time, as if willing it to ring. But whenever Patrick asked about it, David would shoo him off.

And Patrick was starting to think maybe he was overreacting. David _was_ fine, and he didn’t want to smother his new husband a week into their new marriage. That would be, in Rose terms, “not a good look.”

So he decided to back off. If David needed him—if he needed to talk, he’d say so. And Patrick would be there. 

“I have baseball tonight,” he reminded David as they were closing the store on Friday. 

David replied absently, “Mhm,” as he headed to turn off the sound system.

Patrick followed him and made a show of sticking out his bottom lip. “ _Daaavid_.” 

David whirled around, and because Patrick liked to think he was open about his attributes as a partner, both good and bad, one of which was full-on pouty _whining_ , he drawled, “This is the longest we’ll have been apart since before the wedding, you know. Like, _several hours_ apart. What are we going to _do_?”

David rolled his eyes, walking past him but not before kissing the side of Patrick’s head. “Well, I don’t know what _you’re_ going to do, but _I_ will be packing. You folded the extra bathroom towels incorrectly, so that will keep me very busy.” He grabbed his bag from behind the counter, slinging it over his shoulder.

“They’re _towels_ ,” Patrick huffed, exasperated as he picked up his gym bag. “How does one put them in a box wrong?”

“Oh, we’re not going there.”

Patrick went to get changed in the back, and when he returned David was staring down at his phone again, as if in a trance. Patrick walked up to him, slipping an arm around his waist.

David looked at him and promptly scrunched up his nose. “I always forget what your practice outfit looks like.”

“I know, right? Look at me.” Patrick gestured down at his worn-out t-shirt and joggers. “I’m a sex god.”

“Ew.” David pecked him on the lips. “I’ll lock up. See you later. Bring home dinner and don’t come home too sweaty.”

“I love you, too!” Patrick called as he headed out the door, a stupid grin plastered on his face because even though David was bossing him around and being vaguely (or not so vaguely) insulting, he already couldn’t wait to come home to him.

* * *

After practice, Roland had insisted on some “post-ball beer,” a term that literally every person hated but that he insisted upon nonetheless.

So Patrick pulled out his phone to let David know he’d be a little late.

**[Sent 7:19pm]**  
Just grabbing a drink with the guys. Be home soon <3 

David was a quick texter, so Patrick couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t received a reply by the time he ordered at the bar.

After being peer-pressured by Ronnie into a second beer (although Patrick was pretty sure it was less about the pressure and more about desperately needing Ronnie’s approval), he checked his phone—8:15. He should probably get going. He recalled David mentioning a hankering for burgers, so he figured he’d stop by the cafe to grab a couple before heading home.

**[Sent 8:30pm]**  
Just picked up dinner. See you in 10. I love you

He’d hoped the mention of food would entice a response out of David, but no such luck. As he drove home, he tried to swallow the mild apprehension beginning to settle in his throat.

* * *

Patrick unlocked the front door to the apartment, calling, “Sorry I’m late; I got takeout from Twyla’s—”

Upon walking in, he noticed all the lights were off. That was odd. David typically left the entire place alight when he was here, flipping switches with reckless abandon much to Patrick’s annoyance when he received the electric bill every month.

“David?” He called. No response. He shuffled into the tiny kitchen, placing the hot food on the table. “Dinner’s on!”

He knew David was home—he’d seen the old Rose family car parked in the lot of the apartment complex when he’d pulled into it himself. 

Patrick felt a slight, staccato jolt of worry ripple through him as he poked around the living room and made his way toward the bedroom. _He’s fine; he probably fell asleep waiting for you._

That was when he noticed the closed bathroom door, yellow-white light streaming through the cracks.

_Shit._

He jogged to the doorway, rapping on the wood lightly. “David? You okay?”

Silence. He knocked again and tried not to sound as concerned as he was: “David, could you open the door, please?”

Patrick wanted to respect David’s privacy. He did. But the concern rising in his chest was starting to feel a lot like full-blown panic, and one of the many quirks about his apartment was that the bathroom door he'd had installed didn’t have a lock.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, and he opened the door.

David was slumped cross-legged on the bathroom floor, propped between the toilet and the vanity. A near-empty bottle of white wine sat next to him. Patrick could see his chest rising and falling in rapid, short breaths. Finally, he looked up at Patrick, eyes big and wet and hazy with alcohol.

“Oh.” Patrick simply stood for a second, taking in the sight in half-shock. Then he willed himself to move, slowly kneeling down on the tile. “Oh, David.” He rested his hands gently on David’s arms, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on the fabric of his sweater. David sniffed.

This was it. This was the breakdown, and it was much worse than he’d anticipated—because David was just so goddamn _quiet._

Patrick scooted back against the vanity, moving the wine bottle out of the way so he could sit beside David, reaching out to gently hold his hand. They sat like that for a while as David attempted to regulate his breathing, and every so often Patrick would bring David’s fingers to his lips to kiss them.

After several minutes, Patrick felt David squeeze his hand and heard him take a few slow, deep breaths. 

Patrick squeezed back, and sensing his husband was a little calmer, prompted, “What happened?”

David wasn’t looking at him; his gaze was fixed on his lap as tears tumbled down his face, making little rivers on his cheeks. “I-I knew it didn’t make sense but, um, I … I couldn’t … for some reason I thought you weren’t coming back? I was _convinced_ you weren’t coming back.” His voice broke every few syllables, and Patrick felt his stomach lurch in response to the hurt that tinged David’s words.

“Baby,” he whispered, bringing a hand under his husband’s chin to lift David’s face to meet his eyes. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere; I promise.”

But this only made David cry harder and start to gasp for air once more.

“Okay … okay, come here.” Patrick couldn’t stand the remaining distance between them, pulling David into his arms so their chests were pressed tightly together as he rubbed David’s back soothingly.

It was awkward, the two of them kneeling together on the cold floor in the tiny room, but Patrick wanted David to feel safe. He said thickly, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to practice; I shouldn’t have gone for drinks; I should have—we should’ve had a quiet night in.”

“You came back,” David slurred into Patrick’s shoulder in reply. Patrick felt the hot tears on his t-shirt, and the ones starting to form behind his own eyes. _Nope. You’re not breaking, Brewer. Not now._

Then David moaned a little, the wine likely starting to catch up to him.

Patrick pulled away just enough to cup David’s face in his hands. David was exhausted—pale, eyes half-lidded, pinot grigio heavy in his hitched breaths—and when Patrick pressed his forehead against David’s, he could feel the little beads of sweat there, sticky.

“How about we get you freshened up, baby?” He whispered. “Is that okay? I think you’ll feel better.”

David gave a short nod, and Patrick got to work.

He helped David to his feet before turning on the shower water, calling softly behind him as he tested the temperature, “You get undressed and get in, and I’ll lay out your pajamas.”

David moved mechanically, and if nothing else Patrick knew just how wrong things were by the fact that David handed over his sweater and jeans without a single folding instruction. Patrick folded the clothes carefully on the bed anyway, picking up David’s abandoned sneakers and placing them at the foot of the bed. He rifled through the dresser drawers for David’s favorite PJs—extra soft Desmond & Dempseys with the phrase COFFEE PLEASE on the chest pocket.

He was just about to head out to the kitchen to refrigerate their now cold food when he saw David still standing there, naked with his arms crossed tight over his chest. Patrick could see even from a few feet away that the was shaking.

“Can you…” He started, then bit his lip and looked to the ceiling. “Can you please…with me?”

Patrick tried to hide his surprise. David never liked to shower with Patrick after practice or a game because he was “extra dirty”—but now was clearly an exception. And Patrick would do anything to reassure David, anything to draw his sadness out and away, anything to make him feel wanted and loved.

“Of course,” he said, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it behind him.

The hot water was nice on Patrick’s worn muscles, but he only half-noticed as he lathered body wash on David’s chest, moved his hands up to massage David’s shoulders and his neck, gently turned him around to get his back, attending to every inch of his body.

This was much different in tone than most of the showers they took together, evident in each feather-light touch, each reassuring whisper. Patrick took his time, ran his fingers through David’s hair with shampoo and then conditioner, drew soothing circles at the nape of David’s neck.

David was silent the entire time, swaying a little, occasionally threading his fingers through Patrick’s when they had gone too long without touching, and Patrick could see he was trying to hide behind the water, trying to make his tears blend with the steam.

Patrick took David’s head in his hands, leaning up to kiss his forehead.

“I love you,” he said, over and over, until his throat hurt, “I’m right here. I love you.”

* * *

After, in bed, a large glass of water and some toast placed on the side table for David, Patrick propped himself up on his elbow so he could see David’s face. The shower had sobered him up a bit, and now he was pensive—turned on his side away from Patrick, eyebrows knit together, mouth clamped shut. Patrick wanted nothing more than to kiss every worry from his face.

Instead, he traced little patterns up and down David’s arm. He knew David liked repetition of movement when he was anxious.

They lay in silence for a while, dozing off together intermittently. Patrick occasionally pressed kisses to the side of David’s face, to his hair, to his neck, just to remind him that he was there, that he wasn’t going to leave.

Later, into the quiet, David spoke, voice raspy from crying. “It’s so stupid. They’ve barely been gone a week.”

It wasn’t stupid, and Patrick almost said so, but he restrained himself, hoping his silence would encourage David to keep talking.

“I’ve texted them all, called them all, and they’re just. Busy. I get it. But I don't want to contact them _too_ much because I don’t want them to think I. Um.” David trailed off.

“Miss them?” Patrick asked, not unkindly. “Miss your family who you saw every day for three years? It’s okay to feel that way.”

David shook his head. “And then I start to worry,” he went on, staring straight ahead at the glass of water intently. “What if Alexis gets hurt in New York or something? Who’s going to pick her up and bring her home? That’s _my_ job, and I can’t go get her if she doesn’t tell me when she’s in trouble. And what if my mom loses it on set and gets herself fired? What if my dad has an _actual heart attack_?”

“Hey.” Patrick pressed up against David’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist. “None of that is going to happen, David. And if it did, it wouldn’t be your responsibility. You’ve spent so much time taking care of your family. And I know you’ve watched them walk away too many times.” He sat up again, trying to find his husband’s gaze. “But don’t you think this time is different?”

“I don’t know.” David finally turned to lie on his back, peering up at the ceiling. “Yes? It is. But I just kept thinking, what’s to stop things from going back to the way they used to be? I didn’t see Alexis for years before we moved here.” 

Patrick slipped a hand under David’s shirt, rubbing his chest in small circles.

“And then I kept thinking, what’s to stop _you_ from leaving when you’ve had enough of this town and … “ David cleared his throat, and Patrick knew what was coming, but it didn’t hurt any less when the words came: “And … of me?”

Patrick leaned over to brace his upper body fully on top of David, forcing him to meet his eyes. He couldn’t stop the tremble of emotion in his voice despite the resolve of his words. 

“I’m here, David. You can’t get rid of me.” He ran his fingers through David’s still-wet hair. “I don’t care how many times I have to tell you. I’ll say it every second of every day if you want me to. I will _always_ be here. I _want_ to be here. There’s no other place, no other _life_ I’d ever want to live.” He met David’s lips with his own, soft, trying to convey in the kiss every ounce of love he had for this man, this beautiful person who deserved so much more than Patrick could even dream of giving him. “I belong right next to you. Always.”

David was crying again, and he lifted his hand to brush his fingers against Patrick’s cheek, letting them trail down to rest on Patrick’s lips. “Well that’s…that’s good,” he said thickly.

Patrick smiled and kissed David’s fingers and replied, “I think so, too.”

Patrick returned to lay beside him with an arm slung across David’s waist as David wiped his eyes, sighing. “I just wanted to be strong. For you. And, um, for me, I guess? I wanted to prove that I could … do this. That I could be okay on my own.”

“David.” Patrick snuggled closer, resting his head in the crook of David’s neck, kissing him there. “We’re in this together. We’re _married._ You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

David wrapped his arm around Patrick’s shoulders and said, “I know," and then, quieter, "Thank you."

They lay there some more, exchanging lazy kisses, talking occasionally—but no words were really needed. Patrick could feel David relaxing beside him bit by bit, causing him to release the tension in his body he didn’t realize he was harboring himself.

“I can hear your stomach growling,” David finally said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he pressed his lips to the side of Patrick’s mouth. “You need to eat dinner.”

Oh. Now that David mentioned it, there was the hunger, presenting itself in sharp pangs in the pit of Patrick’s stomach. “You don’t want yours?” he asked.

“I’m still working my way up to getting mid-priced wine taste out of my mouth. So that’s a no.”

Patrick started to disentangle their limbs and felt David tense up next to him, and it broke his heart a little all over again. He found David’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “I’m gonna be _right_ back, okay?”

He practically ran to the kitchen, plating and microwaving the cheeseburger that he would have to try very hard not to devour in fewer than thirty seconds. He didn’t want to keep David waiting too long, so he forwent ketchup (but David didn’t like ketchup on his fries anyway, and David would undoubtedly be sampling Patrick’s dinner).

He found David sitting up propped against the pillows, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and appraised the sight in front of him.

“Eating a greasy meal in bed is incorrect,” David commented, but Patrick saw his eyes light up seeing that he’d returned so quickly. “Come here.”

Patrick half-sat on the edge of the bed, placing himself strategically so his knee was just touching David’s exposed hipbone as his shirt rode up just a bit.

“Ew, it smells like onions in here now,” David muttered, leaning over to snatch a French fry from Patrick’s plate. Patrick quirked an eyebrow in amusement. Indeed, David’s post-wine-drunk restraint had been short-lived.

Patrick saw David had a message open on his phone, and asked, casually, “Who’s that from?”, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer. 

Sure enough, David held up the glowing screen, and there was a text from Moira from a few hours ago:

**Mom [Received 9:27pm]**  
AND HOW IS MY FAVORITE BRIDEGROOM???  


Patrick let out a laugh through his nose. “Why is she yelling?”

“Sometimes she gets her keyboard stuck on all-caps. I’ve showed her how to fix it a million times,” David replied, rolling his eyes, but there was a softness to his voice as he navigated to his other apps. “Oh…My dad and Alexis left me voicemails, too.”

“I told you. They just needed a little time to settle in. But they’re thinking about you. They love you.” He nudged David with his leg. “And _I_ love you. That’s never going to change.”

David hummed in acknowledgement, and seeing him so calm now, so transformed from the state he’d been in hours prior, made Patrick feel like his heart was going to burst right out of his chest.

And then he couldn’t resist, because being with David, just like this, was everything, and it was perfect, and it included teasing him just a little. He said, after a bite of burger, “She could be talking about me, though.”

“Excuse me, what?” David grabbed another fry, and Patrick slapped his hand away playfully.

“‘Favorite bridegroom.’ That could be me. She _adores_ me.”

David glared at him, deeply offended. “ _Please_. As if you need the ego boost.”

Patrick laughed, standing again. If he was going to get a single fry to himself, he’d have to finish his dinner elsewhere. Plus, he knew what David needed to do now, even if he required a little encouragement.

“I’ll be taking me and my greasy meal back to the kitchen.” A little flash of worry crossed David’s face, but Patrick projected as much reassurance as he could in his gaze. “Call your family,” he said gently. “I’ll be right in the next room if you need me.”

David nodded, doing that thing where he bit the inside of his lip to mask a smile, which Patrick both loved and hated because David’s unrestrained smile was one of his favorite things about him.“You know, it’s really annoying,” he said. “Every day I keep thinking it’s impossible to be more in love with you than I already am, but you’re very good at proving me wrong.”

“Well. Proving you wrong is my favorite hobby.” Patrick leaned down and kissed David one more time before heading out of the room, noting the muffled ringing sound that meant David was already on the line.

After placing his food on the kitchen table, Patrick stood in the entryway to the kitchen for a moment, simply listening to his husband’s voice.

“Hi Dad … Yeah, I’m fine, sorry, just one of those nights … Oh, Mom’s there, too. Hi Mom—okay. _Okay_. Oh, my _God_ , stop being so dramatic—Um. I miss you, too. Yeah. I miss you.”

A small smile made its way to Patrick’s face—one of relief, of more love than he ever thought he had in him.

This wasn’t the first time David had needed Patrick to help him find solid ground, and it wouldn’t be the last. But that was fine. That was perfect, actually. Patrick was ready. He’d been ready the moment he first fell into those brown eyes. 

He’d hold onto David, keep him steady, keep him sure, keep him solid. And he’d make every day a reminder that he was never letting go.


End file.
